


In the Valley Beyond

by h34rt1lly (LILYisatig3r)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Corvo Bianco (The Witcher), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feels in the Moonlight, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Needs a Hug, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Mentioned Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Mentioned Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Nightmares, Post-Game(s), Toussaint (The Witcher), Triss is there for Geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22260460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LILYisatig3r/pseuds/h34rt1lly
Summary: When Geralt dreams of losing Ciri to the White Frost, he finds he needs a distraction. Luckily for him, Triss is willing to provide.A commission for @arenoptara <3
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Triss Merigold
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	In the Valley Beyond

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arenoptara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arenoptara/gifts).



> It's extremely difficult for me to write anything short, so this was a welcome challenge! Aren wanted something Geralt x Triss for sure, with Geralt waking from a nightmare of losing Ciri to the White Frost and Triss being there to comfort him. Smut wasn't a requirement, and most of the time, my smut is VERY LONG (no pun intended) so I opted for implications and feelings instead. 
> 
> I hope you like it, Aren! And if you're here reading it, too, I hope you enjoy it as well :3
> 
> Huge thanks to @raineraine for beta-reading on short notice!

_ Bitter winds bite at every inch of uncovered skin.  _

_ The air is so cold and vicious, it’s painful to look ahead, to try and find her—to try and see  _ anything.  _ Even through the thick leather that fully encapsulates his body, he can feel the sharp sting of ice shards as they seek to pierce the vulnerable points of his armor.  _

_ Below his boots, the slope of the mountainside is steep, and he stumbles more than once as he tries to forge ahead. Her silhouette is barely visible through the storm, fading in and out with every strong gust.  _

_ There are moments that fade in from black that make it seem like he could reach out and touch her. Then the wind shifts, and it seems like she’s on the other side of the mountain entirely. Still, he can’t give up. He has to save her.  _

_ He’d asked her not to come—forbid it, even. All he’d received back in response was a wry smile, and a lighthearted quip about never being able to follow the rules.  _

_ For the first time in a long time, he’d found himself wishing he could weave some spell that would force her to stay by his side, to stay safe. But she’d walked away and through the portal to another world, and here they now stood. _

_ On this snow-ridden, storm-ravaged nightmare of a sphere. _

_ Beyond the horizon, a blinding dome of light pulses and writhes, threatening to overtake everything around them. When he realizes that’s exactly where she’s heading . . . this time, he stumbles forward in his frenzy to stop her.  _

_ “Please,” he murmurs under his breath, the word immediately stolen from his lips by the wind. _

_ By the time he stands once more, she is nearly swallowed by the dome.  _

_ “No.” He runs, ignoring every rock he nearly trips over, moving so quickly it’s as if he’s floating atop the snow. “No!” _

_ When the dome eats her alive, its glaring light expanding forth until the base of the slope begins to disappear, he throws out his arms in an attempt to stop it. _

_ “Ciri!” _

* * *

_. . . Corvo Bianco, Toussaint _

_ As the waxen moon glows at its apex in the night sky . . . _

Geralt jolts awake in bed, sweat beading on his forehead and pooling in the crevices of his chest. His breath catches in his throat, panic clawing its way out from within him. 

The sheets are twisted beneath him, wrapped around his legs and trapping him within their depths like the storm from his dreams. Frantically, he pulls at them, stripping himself bare to rise from the warm covers. As he pads across the room, bare feet quiet on the tile, he makes his way out of the sanctum of his bedchamber. 

For once he finds himself . . . less than angry at Anna Henrietta’s superfluous choice in gifts. He couldn’t quite call himself grateful for the vineyard he now had to care for, but the scenery it granted him is exactly what he needs right now. 

Rolling hills sweep across the valley below, lined with lush trees and colorful foliage. Now, in the cover of night, everything is bathed in a pale, eerie glow. Even though the trademark landscape of Toussaint grounds him, reminding him that he is here and not in the frozen mountains of his nightmares, the taint of the moon reminds him of the glowing dome that had been so close to devouring Ciri whole.

_ Ciri . . . _

The thought of the only ashen-haired woman in his life seemingly prompts the one slumbering within the house to join him outside. Her balmy hands trace the ridge of his shoulders before sweeping down his chest and beckoning him closer. It feels like flames lick along his skin where she touches him.

As she leans her cheek against his back, she whispers, “Geralt, what are you doing out here?”

He feels the brush of her silken hair against his skin, and gently reaches up to rub the vivid, red strands between his fingers. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Nightmares?” Triss asks, gently pulling at his arm for him to face her. 

Instead of acquiescing, he reaches behind and cradles her elbow, pulling her in front of him instead. A squeak of surprise escapes her, and he wraps his arms around her waist, resting his cheek in the space between her shoulder and neck. The silk of her robe is soft against him, but he finds himself wishing he could feel the warmth of her skin.

“Mhm.”

“Well, about what?” she prods, lightly elbowing him in the stomach.

“Ciri.”

At that, Triss does face him, spinning around in the cradle of his arms. “Oh, Geralt. She’s safe with Yen, you know that. Having fun on their grand adventure.”

Geralt scoffs as he straightens. “You and I both know that’s a cover for Yen running errands for who knows what _ — _ or who _ — _ this time.”

“Well, yes,” she says with a laugh, tracing lines up his chest before looping her arms around his neck. “But the fact is . . . Ciri  _ is  _ safe. All of this business with the Wild Hunt, and the White Frost _ — _ all of it is behind us now.”

Finally, he meets her gaze. Her green eyes seem sincere, so sure of what she’s saying, that he finds it hard to doubt her. Something about her words triggers a response in him, and he furrows his brows. “How’d you know I dreamed about the White Frost?” 

He isn’t angry, and keeps his voice neutral so she won’t think that he is. Still, Triss bites at her lip, suddenly nervous. Gently, she traces her nails through the hair at the base of his neck before briefly glancing away. “I . . . sensed it.”

Geralt frowns. “Didn’t read my mind, did you?”

Her response is immediate. “No, of course not. At least, not intentionally. When you first left the bed, you were . . . projecting your thoughts so strongly, I caught a glimpse, that’s all. You know that I _ — _ You know I would never do that, right? Not without your consent?”

It’s one of the few things that had always driven him crazy about Yen, and not in a good way. All he can offer is a nod, grip tightening on her waist in reassurance. A slight exhale leaves her, and she reaches for his hands, taking them in her own.

“Come back to bed?” she asks softly, the corners of her lips hinting at a smile.

He grunts, thoughts on his nightmare again. She must see that his mind is far away, in lands not their own, because she leans in and plants a soft kiss on his lips. 

“Geralt, come on.” Slowly, she brushes past him, fingers still intertwined with his. “It won’t do you any good to stand out here all night and I can think of other ways to keep you distracted.”

At that, he finally angles his body to follow her. The implication in her words has his blood pooling lower, and he quirks a brow. “Distracted, hm?”

When she’s just in front of the bed, she lets his arm fall to his side as she reaches up to brush the robe from her shoulders. It slips to the floor, leaving her bare before him. His eyes trace the slope of her shoulders, into the curve of her breasts, down the valley of her stomach to  _ beyond _ . 

With a tilt of her head, Triss crooks a finger, beckoning him closer. Geralt rolls his shoulders, stretching his neck to relieve some of the tension before he follows her command.

“I never say no to a good distraction.”


End file.
